


The Graf's Dog

by ficbear



Category: Soul Calibur
Genre: Anal Orgasm, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Asphyxiation, Bondage, Breathplay, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic, Mind Control, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You…" Zwei spits, and the word sounds like a curse. "You're a fool if you think you'll get away with this. The Captain will-"</p><p>"Your Captain has no idea where you are." Dumas advances on him, and takes his chin in one gloved hand. "You're trapped, werewolf, and entirely at my mercy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Graf's Dog

His muscles burn, and his head throbs. Warmth prickles at his flesh, and an ache something like hunger gnaws at him. How long has it been since the battle? A rush of memory overwhelms him, and he shakes his head. How did his comrades manage to rescue him? It had seemed hopeless, even for him. How has he survived?

It's only when he tries to shift into a more comfortable position that Zwei realises his arms are bound. Not just his arms; as he tries to push himself upright, Zwei finds that his ankles are shackled equally firmly. He gives a faint growl of frustration, and heaves himself up onto his knees just in time to see the door opening.

"You're finally awake." The Graf's voice is rich and sour with contempt. "I was beginning to wonder whether my assassins had finally finished you off, werewolf. But I see there's a little fight left in you yet."

"You…" Zwei spits, and the word sounds like a curse. "You're a fool if you think you'll get away with this. The Captain will-"

"Your Captain has no idea where you are." Dumas advances on him, and takes his chin in one gloved hand. "You're trapped, werewolf, and entirely at my mercy."

"My lord!" A light, strident voice calls from the doorway.

"Come here, Patroklos." Dumas orders, and the boy obediently hurries to his side. Only the anxious look in Patroklos's eyes belies his apparent compliance.

"But my lord, I must speak to you about my sister-"

"No, Patroklos." The Graf lays one hand on the boy's shoulder, and Zwei can just make out the faint tendrils of darkness, red and smoky, seeping out from the older man's grip and crawling along Patroklos's skin. "That's not what you want."

"It's… not?" The boy looks up at his master with the same wide, dark eyes that Zwei has seen a dozen times before. The influence of Nightmare's power seems to take hold of the boy easily, and in moments Patroklos is as docile and pliant as a drunken youth.

"No." Dumas brings his other hand up to the boy's chin, and yet more tendrils of translucent scarlet sweep of Patroklos's skin, darker and richer now, like trails of blood. "What you want most right now, Patroklos, is to follow my orders. Isn't that right?"

"Yes…" The boy nods slowly, gazing up into the older man's eyes as if spellbound. "Yes, my lord."

"Good boy." Dumas seems to apply only the slightest pressure before Patroklos sinks smoothly to his knees.

"Dumas!" Zwei cries out. "What are you doing? Let the boy go!"

Patroklos turns at the sound of his voice, as if noticing Zwei's presence for the first time. The boy's face is pale, and his eyes seem to glitter in the dim light of the cell. The sight unnerves Zwei somehow, and that persistent ache inside him seems to strengthen, growing hungrier and sharper with every moment he spends watching Patroklos.

"I'll gladly let him go." The Graf says, pushing the boy toward him with a wry smile. "Patroklos, you know this man, don't you?"

Patroklos studies him intently, and Zwei can feel those eyes sweeping over his face, his body, his tattered clothes and bruised flesh. The boy's gaze feels like a hand stroking over his skin, hot and firm. "Yes…" Patroklos murmurs, leaning forward onto his hands and knees. "Yes, I know him, my lord…"

"Why don't you go and get reacquainted?"

Dumas shoves the boy forward, and watches with eyes full of malicious pleasure as Patroklos crawls across the floor to where Zwei is kneeling, stalking toward him like a cat approaching its prey. Zwei's first instinct is to back away, but he holds still as the boy closes in on him; he won't let Dumas see him flinch. Patroklos kneels before him and leans in, close enough that Zwei can feel the boy's breath against his face. Those parted lips hover an inch from his own, just out of reach.

"That scent…" Patroklos murmurs, closing his eyes as if enraptured.

"You like the scent of him?" Dumas laughs, fixing Zwei with a look of utter disdain. "You're a boy of strange tastes, aren't you, Patroklos?"

"Yes, my lord." The boy nods, opens his eyes, and leans forward to brush his lips against Zwei's own. His mouth is hot and soft, somehow hungrier than Zwei expects, as if Nightmare's influence has given the boy not only the desire but the experience to match. Zwei tries to remain unmoved, to ignore his body's reactions, but he knows he's fighting a losing battle as soon as the boy's tongue flicks out to lick at his own. There's no way he can resist this. And if he's going to be a player in Dumas's show, then Zwei is determined to get the most out of it. He returns the boy's kiss with equal fire, only pulling back when he hears the Graf's laughter cutting through the silence again.

"I knew I wouldn't have to exert even the slightest control over you, werewolf." Dumas says, circling around the two of them. "And you've proved me right. You'd happily ravish this boy here and now, wouldn't you?"

"I won't refuse an opportunity when it presents itself." Zwei stares up at the Graf, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "Just as I'll happily take the opportunity to defeat you, when it inevitably arrives."

"Arrogant beast…" Dumas seizes a handful of Zwei's hair and yanks his head back roughly, glaring down at him for a moment, before releasing his hold. "Patroklos, put that mouth of yours to use, and see if you can improve your friend's disposition."

The boy murmurs his assent and presses his lips to Zwei's neck, licking a hot trail down across his throat and down over the muscles of his chest. Lingering over the lines of Zwei's tattoo, Patroklos traces his tongue slowly along the curves of the crescent moon, lapping at it until the whole design is slick with his saliva. Zwei shifts restlessly as Patroklos moves down ever lower, watching the boy's tongue glistening red and wet against his skin. By the time Patroklos's tongue brushes against the leather of his trousers, he aches to shove that soft mouth down and take his pleasure in it. Pulling frustratedly against his shackles, Zwei watches the boy's fingers working over buttons of his trousers. Even under Nightmare's influence, Patroklos's hands are deft and quick, and Zwei wonders how much more agile he'd be if Dumas's poison wasn't clouding his thoughts.

Gripping the base of Zwei's cock with firm hands, Patroklos bends his head and takes it into his mouth, sucking lightly at it. The heat of the boy's mouth is overwhelming, and the faint little noises of pleasure he makes as Zwei's cock hardens and swells against his tongue are maddening. He stares up at Zwei hungrily, his eyes hazy and dark, his expression rapt, as if the hard flesh in his mouth is all he's ever wanted, and begins to move faster. Patroklos seems to have all the inhibitions of a dockside whore now, and Zwei can't help but thrust up into that ravenous mouth. A pang of envy strikes him, as he watches the boy's lips slide down to the base of his cock; if Nightmare's power can turn a sanctimonious brat like Patroklos into a brazen catamite, what else could it do for him?

"You're feeling too warm, Patroklos." The Graf says, as crouching to bring his lips close to the boy's ear. "You want to undress and feel the air against your skin."

"Too warm…" Patroklos repeats, his voice soft and low. His hands pull at the buttons of his jacket, unfastening it hurriedly, and in moments the boy has torn off his shirt and begun to work on his trousers and boots. He undresses quickly, as if each garment burns to the touch, and soon enough Patroklos is kneeling naked between Zwei's legs.

Dumas cups the boy's cheek and runs one fingertip over his lips. "You won't be satisfied with just the taste of him, will you? No, you need more than that, Patroklos."

The boy gazes up at his master, rubbing his cheek against the Graf's hand. "Need more…" He murmurs, turning his attention back to Zwei. "More than just…"

"That's right, good boy." Dumas opens a pouch on his belt, and passes the little vial within to Patroklos. "Prepare him, and then yourself."

"Yes, my lord."

The musky scent of the oil hits Zwei as soon as Patroklos opens the vial. The touch of it is even more potent, like fire and lightning against his skin, and Zwei bites down on his lip to stifle a gasp as the boy's oiled hands stroke along the length of his cock. Patroklos seems to feel the effects of it just as strongly, and the boy groans as he reaches back and pushes a couple of fingers inside himself, shifting and rocking until his knuckles are flush to the cleft of his ass. Zwei watches him intently, tracking the shifting expressions of discomfort and pleasure that flit across the boy's face. Given how much his own skin aches to be touched now, Zwei can only imagine how intense the oil's touch must feel internally.

"More…" Patroklos says softly, almost as if he's talking to himself, and shifts around to face away from Zwei. "Need more…"

The boy impales himself on Zwei's cock in one stroke, moaning lightly as it sinks into his ass. He takes it easily, and barely pauses to adjust to the hard flesh filling him before he begins to move.  Zwei watches Patroklos's ass sliding tirelessly along the length of his shaft, and he can't help but wonder how many times the boy has taken Dumas's cock like this. How many other men has Patroklos been fucked by while the Graf looks on? The thought of being just one of many, just the latest in a string of interchangeable partners, stings Zwei's pride even as it stokes his lust. He thrusts up into the boy's ass as hard as he can, straining to take control despite the chains binding him. His body burns with the need to fuck Patroklos deeper, harder, faster.

"Look at you." Dumas circles around to stand behind them, and Zwei can feel those wicked eyes running over his body. "Like a rabid animal, aren't you?"

Zwei couldn't answer even if he wanted to; words feel beyond him now, distant and irrelevant. All he can focus on is the feeling of Patroklos's ass, maddeningly hot and soft and tight around his cock. The boy's moans urge him on, and he pulls angrily against his shackles, cursing the power that allows them to resist his strength.

"What a shame it would be for poor Patroklos, if a beast like you were to be let loose." The Graf's voice is smooth and mocking, but it glides over Zwei like a momentary breeze, chilling him only for a moment. The heat of the boy's body is too much to ignore, and Patroklos takes up all of his attention.

A blast of coldness strikes Zwei's wrist and ankles, and the shackles fall away. Zwei pounces on the boy as soon as his limbs are free, growling in satisfaction. Dumas's laughter fills the air, but nothing could distract Zwei now; his only thought is the boy beneath him, and the need to sate his lust. He pins Patroklos down, covering the boy with his body, and fucks him in rapid, brutal strokes. The boy cries out in delight with each thrust, squirming and bucking beneath him, and when Zwei sinks his teeth into the nape of Patroklos's neck, the boy whimpers like a cowering dog. Zwei hammers into him hard and fast, snarling in pleasure as the boy's flesh convulses beneath him. Patroklos moans and shakes uncontrollably, filling the room with his cries. As he climaxes, waves of that familiar red energy seem to ripple through the air around him, snaking out towards Dumas.

"Coming just from this brute's attentions…" The Graf chuckles, as the boy slumps forward onto the floor. "You really are a lewd little bitch, aren't you, Patroklos?"

Dumas basks in the energy radiating from Patroklos as if it were sunlight, watching Zwei with cool, amused eyes, until the last of the waves has been absorbed into him. Having sapped the boy's energy, Dumas seems almost to glitter with power, and Zwei finds himself backing away instinctively as the older man advances on him.

"Oh, you're aren't going anywhere, werewolf." The Graf smiles down at him. "Now that you've had your fun with Patroklos, I intend to have my fun with you."

With a wave of his hand Dumas summons countless tendrils of seething red energy, and in moments Zwei's wrists and ankles are held fast in their grip. The tendrils pull him roughly onto his hands and knees, tugging his legs wide apart and binding his wrists together. Another tendril winds around Zwei's throat, just tight enough to drive a choked groan from his lips. The leather of his trousers tears like paper in Dumas's hands, and Zwei can feel the cold metal curves of armour against his ass.

"Look how hard you still are." The Graf reaches beneath him and takes hold of his cock, squeezing it roughly. He laughs at the desperate little whine that escapes Zwei's throat, and squeezes harder. "You're just as much of a dog as Patroklos, aren't you?"

Suddenly the armour pressing against Zwei is gone, replaced by hot skin. Dumas's fingers rub against the mouth of his ass, wet with oil, and Zwei's skin burns with the touch of it. He pulls against the tendrils restraining him, grunting with exertion, but he knows the Graf is right. Even if he broke free, Zwei wouldn't know what to do with his liberty; every bit of him, every thought, every inch of his body, is consumed with the need to be fucked, and he growls in frustration, as if he could intimidate Dumas into giving him satisfaction.

"Struggle as much as you like, werewolf. It only increases my pleasure." The Graf pushes forward, feeding his cock inch by inch into Zwei's ass, slowly and unstoppably, until the whole of it is lodged inside him.

Zwei groans and bucks beneath his captor, tensing as the sensation begins to overwhelm him. The oil coating the older man's cock sets every alight bit of Zwei's flesh it touches, and he couldn't hold still even if he wanted to. He squirms, his throat humming with a constant faint growl, but each movement only slides his ass further along the length of Dumas's shaft.

"What would your Captain think, if he could see you like this?" Dumas begins to fuck him, drawing out almost entirely with each stroke, only to plunge back in hard enough to drive the breath from Zwei's body. "On your knees and revelling your subjugation at the hands of his enemy…"

Zwei cries out through gritted teeth, pulling harder against at his restraints. The tendril around his throat is excruciatingly tight now, but the thought of the Captain witnessing this is just too much, and Zwei can't help but fight against the Graf even as the tendrils slowly choke the air from him.

"Oh, you like that thought, don't you?" The older man laughs, reaching down to grasp Zwei's cock again. "Would he like to watch, do you think? Would he want to take a turn on you himself, once I'd finished with you?"

Growling furiously, Zwei bucks and thrusts into the Graf's fist. He can feel himself falling now, and every part of him burns with pleasure. The force of Dumas's hips slamming relentlessly against his ass, that hard cock stabbing viciously into him with each thrust, the thickness of it filling and stretching him, all of it shoves him over the edge and hurls him cursing and snarling into his climax. Waves of translucent red flow between them, seeping from Zwei just as they had from Patroklos, swirling around the Graf like dense scarlet mist.

"Pathetic dog…" Dumas laughs, his voice low and harsh with pleasure. "Nothing more than a wretched beast…"

Zwei feels the Graf tense, and the hard flesh inside him swells and throbs. Heat and pressure fills him, flooding his ass with what feels like liquid fire, and Zwei can feel the hand pinning him down shifting and sharpening. As his vision dims, the last thing Zwei feels is the distant pain of monstrous talons gripping his waist, and then there is nothing but blackness and the sound of laughter.

 

* * *

 

Zwei watches the boy approaching. Patroklos's gait, his posture, his expression, almost everything about him is different. Everything but the hunger in those haughty eyes. Zwei wonders if he remembers even a little of their last meeting.

"Knew you'd show up sooner or later." He meets the boy's eyes, but there isn't the slightest trace of recognition in them. "So, you finished being a dog?"

The boy unsheathes his sword and points it at Zwei. "Tell me everything you know about my sister, now."

Patroklos might be free of Nightmare's influence, but it seems he's still an arrogant brat. Introducing him to the Captain is going to be interesting. Still, Zwei consoles himself, at least he'll have the satisfaction of breaking the boy in from scratch.


End file.
